


Unwelcome Intrusions

by xxSparksxx



Series: And Then There Were Two [14]
Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 15:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: It’s odd, the war. Since coming to the United States, it’s been barely even on the periphery of her life.And in any case, nothing’s really happened for so long. There have been troop movements lately, battles and losses reported in the papers, but nothing big. Nothing to cause people to congregate around a newspaper the way they are now.





	Unwelcome Intrusions

**Author's Note:**

> In which the war makes an unwelcome into Vera's life, and I begin setting the stage for the next phase of this 'verse :D
> 
> Also, this fic takes the 'verse over a 100k word count! How insane is that?! I never imagined, way back at the beginning, that this series would grow so big and so involved. Thank you to each and every one of you for reading, for the wonderful thoughtful comments, and for checking in when it's been a while since I had an update. I can't tell you how much it means that you're as invested in this 'verse as I am.
> 
> Beta-read by the lovely Lucretiassister.

Vera is on the way to work when she sees the latest war news. Headlines prominent on the newsstands and shouted out by the men selling the papers. A battle over; Britain in retreat. People congregate around the stands, three or four peering at one newspaper, avidly reading the latest news from Europe. There’s a hum of conversation quite unlike the usual sound of the street.

She’s early, or she wouldn’t think about stopping to see what’s happened. Philip often picks up a newspaper, but Vera rarely goes out of her way to do so. She doesn’t know the politicians here well enough to care what they’re up to, she’s had her fill of organised team sports, and the war news…well, she hears that one way or another. There’s no need to seek it out. 

It’s odd, the war. Since coming to the United States, it’s been barely even on the periphery of her life. Back in England, most conversations had eventually ended up revolving around the possibility of war. It can only have grown worse since she left, because war had been declared by the time their ship had docked in New York. She and Philip had been some of the last passengers of the _Queen Mary_ ; they’d escaped just in time. 

Since then, the relative quiet in Europe has meant that there’s little enough, on a daily basis, to remind her that her native country is at war. Perhaps if she’d left family…but she hasn’t. There’s nobody there that she might worry for, nobody to write to. 

Lately, of course, she’s been otherwise engaged. She’s known, vaguely, that there are battles ongoing in France, but her own body had been a minor battlefield for some time. That’s over now, her recovery complete, and her life with Philip has begun anew, baptised in the blood she’d shed that night at the beginning of March. Still, for long weeks her whole focus had been on herself, and on Philip. First terrified of losing him, during those three weeks in hospital, and then, afterwards, so overwhelmingly secure, at last, in his love. It’s been weeks since he said it, months even, and still Vera feels she’s only really beginning to grasp the enormity of it. The truth of it. She believes him absolutely, and trusts him in ways she’d never imagined she could trust anybody, but sometimes she looks at him and thinks of the months and years ahead, and marvels at the way she knows, without doubt, that he won’t leave her. 

Yes, her own new domestic situation, the regrowth of trust between them, has wholly engaged her mind. There’s been little to spare for something as inconsequential as a war taking place an ocean away. She’s barely spared a glance at the headlines, most days. Even beyond the walls of her home, there’s no incentive to follow the war news. Here in Brooklyn, spring is ticking over into summer and the temperature is already rising. She works all week, and then in the evenings, and at weekends, she’s begun to tame her garden. She’s planting foxgloves, oleanders and hellebores, alongside the roses and ivy that have run rampant since before they bought the house. Beautiful plants, but useful, too. She likes to know there are weapons at her disposal, should she needs them.

And of course there’s always Philip, never far from her thoughts even when he’s absent physically. It all makes the war so distant, so uninteresting. She’s out of it, anyway. Away from it. They both are, here in New York, with an ocean between them and the German armies.

They’re out of it. They’re safe. 

And in any case, nothing’s really happened for so long. There have been troop movements lately, battles and losses reported in the papers, but nothing big. Nothing to cause people to congregate around a newspaper the way they are now.

She tugs on Philip’s arm to make him stop. He’s taken to walking her to work in the mornings, lately. There’s no reason for it; she’s fully healed, and perfectly capable of managing the walk to and from the surgery every day. But he’s out a lot at the moment. Long days, late nights. He’s been away overnight again, three nights a fortnight ago and two this week. She doesn’t ask what he’s doing, and he rarely offers information, but she knows he’s as unhappy about the time apart as she is. He doesn’t say so outright, but she can tell. It’s in a hundred little comments or gestures. The way he holds her close when he comes home late at night, the disinclination to go out anywhere, when he is at home in the evenings or weekends. Little things that add up to a perfectly delightful knowledge that he’s missing her as much as she’s missing him.

She assumes that’s why he’s started walking her to work, on the mornings he’s around. If he’s at home, he puts on his hat and offers her his arm, and walks her every step of the way to the surgery. It’s sweet, really. Not something Vera would have appreciated, six months ago, but now, secure in the relationship in a way she’d never imagined she could be, it’s just…sweet. Still, she teases him about it sometimes, reminds him that she’s been walking without assistance since she was a small child. Philip never rises to the bait, never hints at a reason for his persistence in accompanying her. But no other explanation presents itself. This protection job is safer than his usual fare, or so he says, so there’s little chance of any threat to her. Even if there was, he’s taken pains to make sure that she has her own reputation, among those he works with. And he would tell her, anyway. She’s sure he would tell her if he had some reason to be worried for her safety.

No, the most obvious reason is that he’s snatching more time with her when he can. Walking her to work means an extra twenty minutes together in the morning, after all. At the moment it’s sometimes the only waking time they have together. And it’s nice, walking to work with Philip. On his arm, close to his side, talking idly about nothing in particular, and then parting with a chaste kiss.

He’s going to give it up soon, this protection job. As soon as the hospital bill is paid in full, he says, and a little extra saved for emergencies. It certainly pays well, but he’s bored of it. He’s done it for her, to pay for her mistake, but soon enough the debt will be cleared, and then he can move on. 

Now, as she gains his attention, he ducks his head a little to hear her speak.

“We should buy a paper,” she says. “Find out what’s happened.”

“Alright,” Philip nods. His eyes are sharp; he’s as curious as she is. He glances around, then guides her a little closer to the wall, out of the flow of pedestrians. “Wait here for me,” he instructs. Vera nods, lets her arm slide from his, watches as he makes his way through the crowd. She can read the headlines from here. Dunkerque. Dunkirk. Geography has never been her strong point. France, somewhere. She’d have to be dead not to know that battles have been raging in northern France, the British and French pushed back and back by the Germans. She wonders what the outcome has been. Not that it matters particularly, not to her. The only reason to stop and find out is to be able to answer other people, if they talk to her about it. Mattie and Peggy knows she has no family in England, but there are neighbours. Patients, too. They hear an English accent and assume she has family or friends back in Europe. They assume she’s desperately worried about her home country. Nobody imagines that she feels very little attachment to the country she’d lived in for most of her life, and she’s careful to make sure it stays that way. Anything else would be too suspicious.

But it’s also morbid curiosity, Vera has to admit. It’s the same instinct that makes people stop in the street to stare at a car accident. For all her differences, in some things she is just as much subject as the next person to the whims and follies of ordinary human nature.

Philip is wending his way back through the crowds, newspaper in hand. He isn’t even glancing at it, though, his attention caught by something behind Vera. She looks back, sees nothing out of the ordinary, lifts an eyebrow questioningly at him.

“Thought I saw something,” he says, briefly. “Here’s your paper. Bit of a success story, looks like.” He hands over the paper but doesn’t join her in reading. He’s still peering down the street, preoccupied by whatever it is he thinks he saw. 

“What is it?” she presses, but Philip shakes his head, lips pressed together. Blank, giving little away. He won’t be drawn, she can tell, and she knows better than to try. Still, it’s disquieting. He’s always watchful, the instinct so ingrained in him that it’s practically nature. But it’s not like him to jump at shadows. Watchful, yes, wary…but not skittish. Not that he’s exactly skittish, that’s far too strong a term for it, but…something along those lines. Cagey, maybe. Still, there’s no use trying to get an answer from him, not now. If it happens again, she’ll revise her attitude, but for now she’ll leave him be. 

So instead of glancing back down the street, to see if she can see whatever shadow he’s glimpsed, she turns her attention to the newspaper. 

It’s sobering reading, even though, as Philip says, there’s some success in it, too. Three hundred thousand soldiers rescued from the beaches of Dunkirk, brought back to Britain against all the odds. It’s incredible, miraculous even, but although it’s a successful evacuation, it’s hardly a victory. France is now entirely in Nazi hands. Even for Vera, it’s a chilling thought. She has no particular patriotic feeling for Britain, but the Nazi hatred of anything other than a Germanic ideal…

She knows what it is to be ‘other’, to be unlike those around her. It’s uncomfortable, seeing in stark black and white newsprint that Britain has been driven off the continent by the German army. There’s nobody she cares about, back in England. She’s not sure she would shed a tear, so to speak, if Britain, too, was invaded. But she doesn’t like this encroaching wave of hatred that’s swept over Europe. And Britain in retreat, Britain chased off the continent, makes her wonder just how far Germany intends to go.

There’s an ocean between Europe and North America. Will an ocean be far enough, she wonders. A shiver wriggles down her spine, smoothed away by the warm press of Philip’s hand against the small of her back.

“Do you think they’ll try for Britain, next?” she asks him. “Surely it’s only a matter of time.”

“Maybe.” He’s frowning, but at least this time it’s because of the newspaper, not whatever he might or might not have seen down the street. “Probably. Anyway, I’m glad we’re out of it, whatever happens. The States won’t join the war in a hurry.” She hums an agreement. “I’m glad we’re out of it,” he repeats, more to himself than to her. He’s looking down the street again, but his gaze is distant, focused on something elsewhere. His hand presses a little more firmly against her back. Vera leans in to him, just a little.

Then she straightens and offers him a smile. “You’d keep me safe, even if we were there,” she says. It’s true; he’d keep her safe. She knows he would. He’ll protect her from anything. Even herself, when necessary. And saying it is enough for Philip to shake off his frown, enough to make him smile back at her. A sharp, pleased smile, all teeth and glittering eyes.

“I’m glad you know it,” he murmurs, dark and possessive. A shiver of a different sort makes its way along her spine, and pleasure curls in her stomach. She meets his gaze, the air electric between them. She wants to kiss him, to be kissed. She wants to be held close by him. His approval is, as always, a heady feeling. She longs to indulge it. There’s not been enough time for it, lately. Not with his late nights. Most of the time she’s asleep long before he gets home.

Still, now isn’t the time. They’re in public, in broad daylight, and even if they weren’t, she’ll be late for work if they stop to indulge in more than a moment’s flirtation. She glances at her watch; yes, she _will_ be late if they don’t resume the walk. Philip snags her wrist and peers at her watch, rather than looking at his own, and then he nods. 

“Yeah, we’d better get a move on,” he says. “You want me to take the paper?”

He suits word to action, folding the paper under one arm and offering the other to her. She takes it, and lets him guide her back into the flow of pedestrians. All around them, New York is getting ready for another lovely June day, but they are both quiet, more sombre than before. They don’t talk much as they walk the remaining half a mile to the surgery. The news has surprised Vera, startled her more than she expected, and she feels she wants the time to recompose herself. And Philip…

She doesn’t know why Philip is so quiet. There’s some tension in his body as he escorts her, and no clear reason for it. Once or twice she glances up at him and finds him frowning again. Withdrawn, somewhat. She can’t imagine he’s seriously troubled by the news from Europe. He has as little attachment to his home country as she does to hers, and there’s nobody for him to worry over, back there. He has no family left in Ireland, or none that he cares to claim. 

If it’s not the war news, it must be something to do with his work. She’ll try to get answers this evening, she decides. If he’s home early enough. She rarely asks about his work, but he’s never kept anything secret, when she does inquire. She isn’t shut out from it, it’s merely that she rarely has much interest in it, beyond caring for his safety.

Jumping at shadows, she thinks when they reach the surgery and he looks up and down the street. A quick, deliberate survey. Probably nobody else would notice it, but Vera does. She should leave it, should store the questions in the back of her mind until tonight. She should shake off her concern and be nothing more than young Mrs Lombard, the doctors’ secretary. But that one furtive glance makes her wary. Once again she echoes him, sweeping her gaze casually across the street. She can’t see anything, but then again, she has no idea what he’s looking for. Shadows come in many shapes. What, she wonders, are these ones shaped like?

She has to ask. It’s the wrong time for it, but she has to ask. She releases his arm and catches his hand, pulling his attention back to her.

“Philip,” she murmurs, “is there anything I should be worried about?”

His eyes flicker briefly, so unlike his normal steady gaze that it instantly puts her on guard. “No,” he says. “No, there’s nothing.” He bends his head and brushes his mouth against hers. “I’ll be late tonight,” he says, regretfully. “Don’t wait up.”

“Alright.” She watches him go, walking down the street with a purposeful step. Something cold is slithering down her spine, curdling her stomach. She allows it free reign for just a moment. That’s all she can allow. In a minute, no more, she must go in to work, mask firmly in place and her only trouble the news of the distant war. But for a moment she feels cold and unhappy. For a moment she feels all her certainties tremble under the shock of what’s just happened.

Philip is lying.

He’s lying to her.


End file.
